When We Say Run, Run
by I Admit I'm A Disney Whore
Summary: SuperWhoLock: a simple case turns into a fight to save the world. Demons roaming London, space aliens working with mad men back from hell working with the Devil. What could go right? it's up to Sam, Dean, Sherlock, John and the Doctor to restore balance to the world before it's the end of the human race as they know it.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

"_Sam_."

"No, Dean."

"_Saam_."

"No."

"_Saaam._"

"Dean, shut up."

"_Sam_," he considered to whine, "No planes. You promised."

Sam handed their boarding passes to the airline hostess at the gate. She told them both to have a nice flight. Before Dean could make some snappy comeback, Sam hurried him along into the plane.

"_Sam_."

"Ok, what Dean?" he finally gave into his older brother.

"Why? Just… Just why?"

"The plane? We need to get to London."

"Again, why?"

"Got a call from an old friend, that's all. He needed some of our expertise."

"Who? There can't be anyone you know that I don't. It's impossible."

"Very possible, Dean."

"Well, who is it?"

"Remember John Watson? We met him in Miami while on a hunt."

"That Army medic?"

"Him, yes," Sam said, "Why do you even ask?"

"Because I hate flying, and need to keep my mind off of it."

"Act your age," Sam snapped.

He grumbled under his breath, only to get slapped upside the head by Sam. Sometimes Sam wondered who was the oldest in the Winchester family. Once they reached the main portion of the plane, they finally stopped the fighting and took their seats.

The brothers sat down towards the back where there were no windows, for Dean's sake of course. Sam picked up the Skymall magazine from the seat in front of him and began to flip through it. Flying was fine with him; it just freaked Dean out to no extent.

A flight attendant came up to the boy's row and smiled sweetly to them. Dean looked up and smiled slyly. She was a hot blonde maybe around the age of twenty five or so. Her eyes were a deep blue and he couldn't help but loose his breath with her smile. Sam on the other hand could've cared less.

"Hi," she smiled, "Is there anything I can get for you two?"

"You, sitting next to me, holding my hand. I don't fly well," Dean said with his puppy dog eyes. They weren't as powerful as Sam's though.

She smiled, "You're so sweet. Are you a bad flyer?" she asked putting a hand on his forearm.

"Very bad," he said.

She smiled sweetly, "Well try not to worry the other passengers."

"Miss?" Sam asked.

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you mind if I could knock him out if things get too out of hand?"

She giggled, "You two are so funny. I'll be back around later, boys," she had winked to Dean and walked off.

Dean checked out her ass as she walked down the isle to greet the other passengers. He then turned to Sam and glared at him.

"Cock-blocker."

Sam's jaw was on the floor, "What?"

"You heard me. Don't cock-block, Sammy."

Sam went to say something to Dean, but realized he didn't care. He adjusted in his seat and pulled out a book from his bag. Dean tried to get comfy, but began to fidget. He was such a child… Sam couldn't get into his book at first, having to listen to Dean fidget around in his seat. Aggravated with his brother, Sam shut his book and turned to Dean.

"Dean, it's a plane. It's not going to kill us."

"Planes crash!" he exclaimed.

Sam moved in close to his brother and whispered, "I will knock you out myself if I have too. Go to sleep or I'll knock you out."

Dean grumbled to himself. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. By the time the plane was in the air, he was sound asleep in the most unattractive way possible. Sam couldn't help but laugh and go back to his book. This was going to be an interesting flight.

Across the Atlantic Ocean in a small London flat, two men were enjoying their breakfast, reading the paper. One was taller man around early thirties and the other was a bit shorter in his late thirties.

"I'm going to head over to the morgue soon," the tall man said.

"Alright. I need to head to the airport anyway," the other one said.

The taller one looked up from his newspaper, "Why?"

"I need to pick someone up."

"Who?"

"An old friend," he had said.

"Oh," the man went back to his newspaper, "Anyone I know?"

"Nope."

"Ah."

The shorter man put down his paper and stood, "Well, I'm going to the airport."

"Alright."

"Morgue then?" he asked, double checking with his flat-mate.

"Yes."

"Alright," he grabbed his army jacket and went to the door, "See you sometime later."

"Laterz."

The shorter man smiled. His flat-mate was sure odd. That's what he liked about him.

**(A/N: first chapter of my first SuperWhoLock fic :) I know it's really short, but don't worry! Things will start picking up quite soon! Promise!)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

The man in a green army jacket, similar to San's, stood outside the airport by the cabs and cars. He fidgeted around with his sweater, waiting. He glanced down at his watch to see the time. It hadn't moved since the last time he checked it.

Concerned and quizzical, he held the watch up to his ear. It was silent. The man let out a sigh. Mental note: get new watch battery. He glanced around for a clock and failed to see any. He let out an annoying sigh. Life was wonderful.

Sam and Dean emerged from the airport with two duffle bags each. The man smiled when he saw the brothers.

"Dr. Watson," Sam smiled.

"Samuel Winchester," Watson greeted warmly.

The two shook hands. They were practically wearing matching jackets.

"Uh, you remember my brother Dean, right?"

"Yes," he smiled, shaking his hand with a tight grip, "You seem different Dean. There's no woman wrapped around you."

Sam suspensed a laugh. Watson couldn't help but grin at Dean's quizzical expression.

"Take a joke, Dean," Watson smiled, "I was just kidding."

He let out a fake laugh, "hilarious. Please explain to me why we had to get on a plane."

"We're in need of your services," he said.

"We?"

"John," Sam began, "_You_ said you needed help."

"I do. But my friend was around. He doesn't like outside assistance, that's all."

"Friend? Who might that be?"

He gestured to a cabbie. Dean and Sam put their bags in first and hopped in, facing backwards. Dean was confused about the driver in the passenger side of the car. John got in next, "Saint Bartholomew Hospital, please."

The cabbie nodded and drove off down the street leaving the airport behind them.

"My flat mate-"

"Whoa, what the hell is a flat?" Dean asked.

"A flat is like an apartment, Dean," Sam answered, "Please continue, John."

"Right. He is a big time skeptic and won't hear it from anyone."

"Sorry to interrupt, John," Sam began, "But why'd ya call us here? What have you been up too? You emailed me a few months ago saying you gave up on hunting."

"This guy?" Dean asked pointing to John, "This guy's a hunter?"

"I gave up hunting, Dean. I work with the police now with my colleague. We solve crimes and I blog about it. After I was injured the war, I returned back home and was on the search for a flat-mate. I met a genius and been living in England for a few years with him. It's so hard to keep a girlfriend for some reason."

Sam smiled, "Sounds like a good life."

"Kind of, yes," John said with a smile.

"So what does that have to do with us?" Dean asked.

"We, well I, think we're dealing with a vampire. But my friend ahs too much spite to admit it. He doesn't believe in the 'paranormal' per-say. That's why you two are here. To help us catch this vampire. Sound like something up your alley-way?"

"Count us in," Sam smiled.

The cabbie stopped out front of a hospital. After paying the fare the trio exited the cab and walked into the hospital on a mission to find John's friend. John led the brothers down into the morgue of the hospital.

Dean looked into a window to see a tall man wearing all black, looking too fancy for a morgue, to be beating something. John stopped at a doorway and they all got a better look at the man beating what was a dead body with a riding whip.

The man was tall, maybe as tall as Sam. His hair was shorter, curly and dark brown to almost a black color. He was skinny, no exaggeration there. The way his muscles flexed underneath the black collard shirt he was wearing, didn't look healthy at all. He was just going to town on that dead body, probably getting out some anger.

John smiled, "Rough morning, Sherlock?"

The man looked up at John and gave him a half a smile, "You have _no _idea."

The man's facial features were like his appearance, exquisite. His eyes were light green to a teal blue color. Dean thought he was a demon at first with the eye color, but they it faded away. Guys can have weird colored contacts as well. Dean also noticed something else that the man and his brother had in common; they both had cheekbones that could cut a sheet of glass. The man seemed to have no facial blemishes or any sort of skin tone. He was pale, but not deathly pale.

"Sherlock," John began as he gestured for the boys to come in, "These are two of my old friends, Sam and Dean Winchester. Sam and Dean, this is Sherlock Holmes."

The man, Sherlock, shook both of their hands. He looked them up and down as he paced back and forth with the riding whip behind his back.

"Americans or Canadians?"

"What?" Dean asked, confused.

"Are you from America or Canada?"

"America," Sam answered.

"You're some of John's old hunting buddies, am I correct?"

"Yeah… how did-"

"Boots," Sherlock said proudly, "You two are brothers," Sherlock pointed the riding whip to Dean first, "You're the older one by, I want to say three or four years. You've been doing what you do for almost all of your life and you love every minute of it. By the way you're standing close to your brother, you'd do anything for him and that would even include die for him.

"As for you," he pointed the whip to him next, "You always feel like you have to be the responsible one for when your older brother messes up. You try to keep out of what your brother loves to do. You're a reader I can tell that much. You recently got back into doing this with your brother for something traumatic happened in your recent past and you're doing it for revenge and you ended up going back to it because you love the sport of it.

"Stop me at anytime if I'm wrong," Sherlock said finally stopping the pacing. He began to fiddle with the whip that struck fear into the brother's eyes.

Dean stared into Sherlock's deep cheekbones, lost beyond all recognition. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He looked to John and opened his mouth again.

"You told him about us?"

"Course not," John said.

"No, I'm just that good," Sherlock said with a grin, "Now, would either of you like to whip a dead body with a riding crop?"

Dean raised his hand. Sherlock pointed the riding whip to him again, "Yes?"

"How did you know all of that?"

"All of what? About you and your brother? Simple," he said, "I observed it from your actions and how you look. Now, would you like to whip a dead body?"

Dean's face lit up like a kid in a toy store, "Yes!"

Dean happily ran over to Sherlock and he handed over the riding whip. Dean began to beat the body. Sherlock smiled and joined Sam and John.

"So, was I right?" Sherlock asked Sam.

"Yes," he nodded, "All of it was right."

"Traumatic experience?"

"Girlfriend died."

"Shame," Sherlock looked back over at Dean, "I can see I was right about you being the mature one."

Sam laughed, "Yeah. He get's mad at me when he can't poke dead things with sticks."

John chuckled, "Dean has not changed a bit."

"You'd be surprised, John," Sam said with a grin. He turned to Sherlock, "John was telling us about your case. Would I trouble you to see the body?"

Sherlock looked at John, "You told him?"

"I told you people were interested."

Sherlock sighed and gracefully walked off into the morgue, gesturing for Sam and John to follow. They left Dean alone to hit the body as he pleased. The morgue was bigger than Sam thought as they walked into the back.

Sam looked up and saw a woman standing there. Mid-twenties with some of the most gorgeous eyes Sam ever saw. To him she seemed awkward in there, but then also sweet. She had on a white lab coat over a light flannel shirt and a pair of khaki pants. She was just finishing up putting a body in the cremation chamber.

"Hello, Sherlock," Molly greeted with a smile, "Hello, John."

"Hello, Molly," John said. He knew Sherlock wasn't going to say anything.

"Who's your friend?" she asked smiling awkwardly to Sam.

"Molly, this is my friend Sam. Sam this is Molly Hooper," John introduced.

They shook hands. Molly couldn't keep her eyes off of Sam. He was well built and was a man who loved flannels, like her. What settled the deal were his deep green eyes. Though she was a sucker for Sherlock's, there was something different about his. She liked it.

Sherlock cleared his throat to get Molly's attention. She didn't realize she was still shaking Sam's hand. Molly snapped back into reality and pulled her hand away.

"Molly," Sherlock began, "Where's that dead body we requested you to keep?"

"Oh right!" she said going over to a cremation chamber, "I kept it in here so my supervisor wouldn't get suspicious on why a body was still here."

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said.

She got the body onto an examining table. It was of a thirty-some odd year old, white, male. Short blonde hair and a well built body. Not the one of a man about to die. He looked as if he were in the prime of his life.

"This is it?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said, "Not the man who would've died."

"I was just thinking that," Sam said and turned to Molly, "Cause of death?"

"Heart attack," she said.

"Heart attack my ass…" Sam said under his breath.

John heard his comment and grinned.

"What was that?" Sherlock asked.

"I said 'heart attack my ass'," Sam walked over to the other side of the body and pointed out two small holes on the side of his neck, "See those?"

"Yes. They're injection marks."

"Uh, wrong."

Sherlock was taken by surprise. He was _never_ wrong. Ever.

"John," he began.

"Shut up, Sherlock. Sam knows what he's talking about."

Sam smiled to John, "Thanks. Anyway, those are bite marks. I've seen them before. There are also bite marks," he pointed to a few other spots on the body, "there, there and there. See how they're all around-"

"-Major veins, I know. Their injection marks from a needle. He killed himself."

"He was murdered," Sam said sternly.

"Suicide."

"Murder."

"Suicide."

"Murder."

"Suicide."

"Murder."

"Boys," Molly interjected, "Sam, how do you know it's a murder?"

"I've seen vampire-"

"Don't be absurd! Sam, be logical here. There are no such things as-"

"Whoa, hold up there, Sherlock," Sam began, "Keep an open mind about this."

"Why should I? I'm being logical!"

"Logical? Is that what you're calling it? It's obviously a vampire."

"Back me up here, John," Sherlock said at the same time Sam called, "Back me up here, Dean!"

Dean walked in with the ridding whip in hand and stood next to Sam. The two began to explain their reasoning with the dead body. Was it a murder or was it a suicide? Molly listened to both sides of the story. Well, she tried to at least.

She had an open mind. It could've been a vampire. London was home of all sorts of crazy creatures. She looked over the body for herself. There was a lot of blood loss and the marks were by the main arteries. Any option was possible.

Tired with all the arguing, Molly cut in, "Boys! Please! Be civil in a morgue!"

The four shut up quickly and turned to Molly who was standing by the body. They felt bad arguing in front of a woman like that.

"Now, either of your ideas could be correct," she began, "The only way to test your theories is to hunt for it."

Sherlock looked at the brothers, "Hunt? Is that what you two 'hunt'?"

"Maybe," Sam said.

"Maybe not," Dean smirked.

"John?" Sherlock asked.

"What?"

"Who. Are. They?" he asked through his teeth.

Dean smiled wickedly to Sherlock, "We're the Winchesters. We hunt things others can't explain, people like you."

"We save people. It's been the family business for years. Don't like it, get over it. We're here to help."

"Help? You're funny. We don't need help, right John?" he looked to John, who was surprisingly quiet. It dawned on Sherlock; _these brothers are here because john called them_, "John, you called them here?"

"We needed their help," John said.

"No outside help, John."

"You need us, cheekbones," Dean said.

Sherlock gave him a weird look. _Cheekbones?_ Dean thought of the first annoying nickname to call Sherlock.

"Don't deny it either," Dean continued.

"Give them a shot, Sherlock," John said.

"What do you have to loose?" Molly asked.

Sherlock closed his eyes and gave an annoying sigh. He was not about to win this battle. He cracked his neck to one side and calmly opened his eyes.

"Fine," he said through his teeth once again, "One night. Hunt for this so called… 'vampire'…"

The Winchesters smiled to John. Sam then turned to Molly and gave her an extra smile. He then winked to her, turning her bright red. Sherlock, now incredibly ticked off, walked off into the other room. Dean, being the smart ass he was, held out the riding whip for him with a grin. He snatched it from Dean's hand and went to go whip a dead body.

John laughed and followed Sherlock into the other room with Dean trailing close behind him. That left Sam and Molly alone in the room. She stood awkwardly, trying to hide her bright red face from Sam. She turned around and tried to put the body back into the cremation chamber.

Sam didn't hesitate; he walked over to her and lifted the body into the camber for her. She smiled.

"Thank you," she blushed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"No problem," he smiled, "Thanks for sticking up for my brother and I."

"Oh, no problem. I believe you guys. London is home for many creatures and secrets. Dark history…"

"I've done research on London for a project for school. It was really fascinating."

She smiled, "Oh yes. Dark but fascinating."

Sam smiled, "Sorry, you're just really pretty."

She blushed even brighter, "You think so?"

"Well," he moved closer to her, "Yeah, I do."

She was staring into his eyes, lost. He was so much taller than she, but that wasn't bothering her. She secretly wished that he would pick her up and kiss her. They just met, but some force was telling her that this was her dream man, and not Sherlock Holmes.

"Sam! Let's go!" Dean called.

"Coming!" he yelled back.

He took out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and scribbled something down on it. He handed it to Molly and smiled.

"I'll see ya around sometime," Sam said walking backwards towards the door.

"I hope so," she smiled.

"Bye," he said awkwardly.

"Bye," she waved.

Sam finally turned and walked out. Molly looked down at the piece of paper. A phone number was scribbled down on it. She squealed, extremely happy. Sam liked her back! Sam liked her back!

The four men walked out of the morgue and hailed for a cabbie. Sherlock kept glancing back at Sam. _Stupid grin on his face, elevated body temperature, probably heart beat raise, dilated pupils…_

He finally spoke, "You gave your cell phone number to Molly, didn't you?"

"No," Sam said, trying hard not to turn pink.

"You like her. It's quite cute actually," he said adjusting his blue scarf, "She seems right up your alley, Sam. She's lonely and desperate."

"Thanks for the update, Sherlock…" he said, "Really."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Cold. So very cold.

Sherlock shook against the cold breeze of a London night. Even with the scarf and long coat on, he was still a bit cold. A downfall to being so skinny, no fat to keep warm at 2 in the morning while out hunting 'vampires' with a group of hunters.

"This is mad," he exclaimed. He could see his breath in the night.

"Shut up, Sherlock," John scolded the grown man.

"There's no such thing as vampires."

"You don't know that, cheekbones," Dean chimed in.

"Reduced to nicknames?" Sherlock raised his eyebrow, "Really?"

"What? It's easier to remember. So, cheekbones is your new name.

Sam sighed, "Please, ignore him."

"Planning on it," Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, we should split up," John suggested.

"Good idea. Sam, go with cheekbones," Dean said to his brother.

"Best idea," Sam nodded, "We don't want a higher body count if Sherlock went with you, Dean."

"What are you implying?" Dean asked.

"Think nothing of it. John, just go with Dean and try not to kill each other."

They went to gather up their equipment. The Winchesters were able to bring over some rock salts, silver bullets and holy water. John supplied the guns. Sherlock on the other hand, thought everything that was happening was mad, and he kept silent, gun in pocket. Dean and Sam were impressed with the weaponry John had from his hunting days.

Soon, they were all set to head out. They passed around some flashlights and headed out.

"This is mad," Sherlock repeated.

"Shut up, Sherlock," John scolded once more.

"Sam and Sherlock, check where the body was found. John and I will be a few blocks away. Good?"

"Good," Sam nodded.

"Behave, Sherlock," John reminded him before he and Dean walked off into the dark city streets.

The body was found a few blocks away from 221B Baker Street, so despite the cold, Sam and Sherlock walked down the side walk to find the vampire. Sherlock kept a steady pace, a half a step faster than Sam's. His gloved hands remained in his pockets as they walked for a more easy access to his gun and to keep his hands warmer. Sherlock's body language seemed to scream out 'business'. He was on a mission to prove that vampires weren't real and that the man committed suicide.

Sam, disappointed, kept his eyes front. It was far too dark and too late for sight seeing. First time in London, he wanted to sight see and absorb all the history the city held. But no. It was two AM and he was walking about the city looking for a vampire with a nonbeliever. They had to find the vampire. It was obviously that and nothing else.

Down an alleyway, a trashcan fell over. The sound echoed loudly through the empty night.

The two stopped and spun around. The streets were vacant and the wind would've carried the sound of footsteps. The only people out and about were Sherlock and Sam, and somewhere else was John and Dean. No way would Dean and John've followed them either.

"Could be an animal," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

Sam rolled his eyes and began to walk back to the source of the noise. Sherlock hadn't moved an inch. After retrieving the gun from his pocket, Sam crept up to the alleyway with the noise.

"It's obviously an animal, Sam," Sherlock said again.

"Then you check," Sam looked the man in the eyes.

"Fine," Sherlock stated proudly.

Sherlock nudged Sam aside so he could check. He expected to see a cat or a dog going through the garbage. Sherlock was a tad off. What he saw was a pair of glowing red eyes, staring at him. Sherlock froze, not sure what to make of what he was seeing. It was like the Hound all over again.

"Sher-" Sam began, but cut off quite quickly. He saw the eyes and looked to the man, "Sherlock, just back away slowly."

Sherlock ignored his warning and went for his gun slowly and carefully. He was going to take matters into his own hands. Gun pointed to the eyes, he fired. A his was followed after the gun shot. The eyes had a body and leaped out from the alley, knocking Sherlock to the ground. In the flash of an eye, the creature was gone.

"You ok?" Sam asked.

"Yes, I believe so," Sherlock said calmly.

Sam offered his hand to Sherlock. He grabbed it and Sam helped him to his feet again.

"You're welcome," Sam said for Sherlock's lack of thanks.

"What?" Sherlock asked, "Oh, yes right."

"Vampire scratched the crap out of your face."

A claw mark ran along the side of Sherlock's face, right below the cheekbone. It was a clean cut and wasn't too deep to Sherlock's luck. Sherlock traced the wound with his gloved fingers. It was just beginning to burn.

"No vampires, eh?" Sam smirked.

"We don't know what we saw," Sherlock insisted.

"We _saw_ a vampire."

"We've been drugged."

"Sherlock!"

Sam wanted to continue his argument with the man, but his cell phone rang. He thanked God and Castiel in his mind and answered it.

"Yeah?"

"We saw it on the rooftops about a block away. It's heading towards you guys," Dean warned.

"It's actually going wherever it wants then, we just saw it. It scratched Sherlock."

"What'd he do?"

"Tried to shoot it. with normal bullets."

Sam heard Dean laughing on the other line. Sam smirked. More than likely John was chuckling too. Everyone was, but Sherlock, who simply glared at Sam.

"Oh wow is he untrained!"

"I know!" Sam smiled.

"John wants to know if Sherlock's alright."

"He's fine. Nothing too deep. Well, he _did_ have it coming to him."

"True that. Alright, just keep your eyes peeled and if Sherlock insists to use regular bullets, tell him to lace it in holy water."

"Will do."

Dean hung up on Sam. When Sam clicked his phone shut and returned it to his pocket, he turned to see Sherlock glaring at him. Sam rolled his eyes at him and began to walk back the way they came.

"Come on, Sherlock," Sam called over his shoulder.

He sighed and followed the American. Once they were at the same pace, Sherlock looked over to Sam.

"You've been hunting for a long time, haven't you?"

"Dean has, yeah. I've been away from it for a while, even you deduced that before."

"You missed it when you were away from it."

"A little. But I was in school at the time, so it would get put back so often. Why do you suddenly care? You were the one who just argued with me about vampires."

"I can't ask questions?"

"There not really questions, they sound like deductions made into a question to see if you're right."

"That may be true," he began, "But you fascinate me."

"O…kay?"

"Troubled life, not in the norm; it's always so fascinating."

"Sherlock, shut up!" he shushed the man.

Sam took his arm and pulled him into an alley. He saw the vampire lurking about the rooftops on the flats across the street. Sam held out his hand, hoping Sherlock would give him his gun. To his luck, Sherlock handed it over. Quietly, Sam took out the bullets and laced them with holy water.

Once the gun was vampire hunter ready, he aimed at the creature and fired. It hit it in the arm and it let out a blood curdling shriek. From another angle, bullets were fired at it. Well, they found Dean and John now. Sam smirked and fired again.

A few shots were all they needed before the vampire was dead. The morning sun should burn up the rest of the body.

Sam gestured for Sherlock to follow him out of the alleyway. Down the street, John and Dean were running towards them. They were all grouped up again, and all staring at Sherlock.

"What?" he asked. He knew what they wanted him to say, but was simply playing dumb.

"Now what do you think?"

"Maybe… perhaps, there are things we can't… explain in the world…"

"There we go, close enough," John said, "Now, come on. You two are staying with us, as our guests. And keep your mouth shut, Sherlock."

With that, the four were off to get some sleep in the safety of 221B Baker Street.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Two men looked down at the dead vampire. Both in black suits and sunglasses, despite the night.

"Awe," the one said. He was a bit shorter than the other; hair slicked back and well groomed, "They killed my friend."

"Please," the other scoffed as he ran his hand through his spiked up hair, "you have no friends."

"No, no I don't. But I'd do anything to put revenge on whoever did this to him."

"In time, dear Moriarty, in time," the other said with an evil smirk.

"But of course, Satan," Moriarty's eyes turned black as the night.

The two were just about to head in for the night when they both saw a flash of light on the other side of the rooftop. What looked like a giant salt shaker was rolling over to Satan and Moriarty.

"We heard you were looking for revenge," it said in a very robotic voice.

"So what of it?" Satan asked.

"We have a proposition for you two."

Moriarty and Satan looked at each other, and exchanged evil smirks.

"We're listening," Satan smirked.

"What if we told you we could run the world," the robot said flatly.

"Hell on earth," Moriarty muttered to himself.

"The end of the human race," it added.

"We're in," Satan said with an evil smirk.

"Very well then. Come with us," it turned and began to walk back to the beam of light it came from.

Satan and Moriarty followed. Once in the beam of light, they were transported to a space ship. Thousands of these salt shaker robots stood around. They were all screaming one thing in that annoying robot voice.

"EXTERMINATE!" they chanted.

"Shall we proceed?" the main robot said.

"We shall," Satan said.


End file.
